Twelve.

I would drown myself in a salty sea
if it meant I would become a mermaid.

I dream of strange, scaly skin
and unexplained breathing organs
and knotted tendrils of course hair
and brine-resistant eyes
and infinite, dangerous space to explore.

I don't care for my two legs
(too many limbs to trip me up)
and I have no need for fashion
or oxygen.

I think I'd be a better friend to the anemones
than these awkward humans
I don't understand.

As long as I had my books
and my words
and my wonderful husband,
I wouldn't mind
leaving this corrupting species
behind
to destroy the earth some more.